


Between the Pages of a Book

by knoxoursavior



Category: The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: M/M, bookstore au ayoooo, except neither of them work in the bookstore, yep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 21:12:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2826257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knoxoursavior/pseuds/knoxoursavior
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry woos Peter by buying him books and getting crumbs on the floor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between the Pages of a Book

Peter is leafing through a hardbound book on the origins of genome architecture when it starts.

“Well, hello there.”

He looks up from a chapter on chromosomal integrity to see a boy who seems no more than twenty with medium brown hair and cerulean eyes. He's wearing a navy blue pea coat and a gray scarf that make him look absurdly unruffled, considering that Peter himself has been reduced to messy hair, a wrinkled shirt, and a bright red nose because of the horrible weather outside.

“I'm sorry. Do I know you?” Peter asks, mostly because it's polite. He knows they've never met before; he'd remember a face like that.

“Not yet,” the boy says, sticking his hand out for Peter to shake. “Harry.”

Peter tilts his head, slowly closing his book so he can take Harry's hand. “Peter Parker.”

Harry beams. “Peter, huh? Peter. Pete,” he says, testing out the syllables on his tongue. “I like it.”

“Uh. Thanks, I guess,” Peter replies, a crease forming between his eyebrows.

“It was nice meeting you, Peter Parker,” Harry says, turning around to head to the door. When he throws a grin over his shoulder and says, “See you tomorrow,” he's already too far away for Peter to shout after him.

“I won't be here tomorrow,” Peter says weakly, though there's no one there to listen anymore. He sighs.

That was unusual.

*

Peter doesn't come back the next day, but he does make a quick stop two days after.

“You know, Parker, at this rate, we should just set up a table for you. Or you could go and visit a library, because it’s actually their thing to let people read books for free,” Flash tells him. He’s a friend of Peter's from high school, and he started working at the bookstore as a part-time cashier the summer after graduation. He whined nonstop, of course, but the workers at the bookstore actually had the most decent pay. Mr. Jameson might ignore the bookstore in favor of his newspaper, but never let it be said that he’s stingy.

“Library's too far away. Besides, you'd die of boredom if I weren't here to entertain you,” Peter says, shooting Flash a cheeky grin. “Anyway, I won't be here for long. I just need to check something.”

“Oh?” Flash raises his eyebrows, surprised. Usually, Peter stays until closing, spending as much time as he can reading. “Got a hot date, Parker?”

“You know I don't,” he says, because Flash really should know. Loath as he is to admit it, Peter tells Flash everything. He even knows about that one time in fifth grade when Peter stuffed a certain bully's locker full of mashed potatoes. It was a gift, he still insists; those mashed potatoes were delicious.

“The usual geekfest at home, then?” Flash smirks, because he also knows about the pet projects Peter has, like his attempts at creating the world's first functioning lightsaber and his more successful imitations of Batman's gadgets. Gwen used to tell him he could rule the world if he had a proper lab and decent funding.

“It's that LEGO Robotics seminar I told you about,” Peter says instead of taking the bait.

Flash scoffs. “As if you can't finish a three-hour project in half the time.”

“An hour,” Peter corrects, grinning. “And it's almost Aunt May's birthday. I have to go shopping for a gift.”

“Get her a gift certificate. Better yet, pay for a spa day.” Flash snaps his fingers. “Problem solved.”

Peter snorts. “She's turning fifty. Pretty major, man.”

Flash eyes light up. “This means she's going to cook more of her delicious tuna casserole, right? Because my mom's been asking me to bring home a bowl since Christmas two years ago.”

“Yes, I'll ask her,” Peter says. “Now quit distracting me and go back to doing your job.”

“But Parker,” Flash says, looking and sounding every bit put out, “this is boring.”

Peter rolls his eyes. He isn't even going to respond to that, because if he does, Flash is only going to take it as permission to bother him again. So Peter heads to the reference section and quickly finds a book on analog circuits for an Intro class. He knows he could just google this sort of stuff, of course he does, but there's just something about the feel of paper against fingertips, about being able to turn the pages and read at his own pace without any distractions.

“You weren't here yesterday.”

Well, when he said distraction, Peter did not consider people trying to talk to him.

“I would've told you if you weren’t in such a hurry to leabe,” he says, refusing to glance up from his book. He really shouldn't be encouraging conversation, but he can't help adding, “Did you wait for me?”

“Of course not,” Harry says, except it comes out too quickly and it sounds too sharp. “You're here again, though.”

“So are you,” Peter remarks.

Harry raises an eyebrow, but he doesn't let Peter's smart retorts deter him. He nods at the book. “Engineering?”

“Second year,” Peter confirms.

“Any interest in Oscorp?”

Peter finally looks up, tilting his head curiously. “Maybe. Why are you asking?”

Harry attempts an easy smile. Peter can see through it. “My father wants me to work there.”

Peter purses his lips. “And where do you want to work?”

“Don't know,” Harry says, shrugging. “I don't like business, don't like dealing with people.”

“You didn't have any problems chatting me up,” Peter says, and yes, he knows he's flirting a bit. He knows he's closed his book and that he doesn't even remember anything he read in the past hour. Also, he knows that it's almost eight o'clock and he really should be going now, which is why he's been bouncing on the balls of his feet for a while now, albeit unconsciously.

“You're different,” Harry says, and the light is back in his eyes again. He shifts his weight from one foot to another, tucking his hands in his pockets. “I must be keeping you.”

Peter almost wants to say no, but then he'd be lying. “Sorry.”

Harry nods and steps aside, giving him way. Peter puts the book back in its place; he'll finish reading it next time.

“Will you be here tomorrow?” Harry asks.

Peter smiles.

“Six o'clock.”

*

“Parker, what did you do?”

“Flash,” Peter says brightly—sarcastically. “Great to see you too, man.”

Flash rolls his eyes. “No, really. Do you know what I found on the counter this morning?”

Peter raises his eyebrows in question.

“Two books, an envelope of cash, and a note that says _For Peter_ ,” Flash says. He crosses his arms, and the quirk of his lips means he's going to get to the bottom of this no matter what.

“I'm not the only Peter in the world.”

“Yes, but you're the only one who visits this store who has, I quote, hipster glasses, hipster clothes, and surprisingly non-hipster but incredibly messy brown hair,” Flash says, reading from a green post-it. “Second best description of you I've ever heard. Sadly, it didn't beat Sarah Anne from ninth grade's _unibrowed jerk who probably eats worms for breakfast_.”

“Stop bringing that up,” Peter says, though it's more out of a habit than an actual request.

“So, any idea who left it?” Flash asks, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. “What about that young man you've been talking to?”

Peter sighs. “His name is Harry and no, you're not allowed to bother him. Or set me up with him.”

“I'd never,” Flash says, his expression and tone mock-hurt.

Peter only shakes his head and walks away, but not before picking up both of the books and tucking the note into his wallet. Thirty minutes later, he's sitting on the floor, a book on World War II opened on his lap. (a required course. peter doesn't mind much. world war II covers captain america, and he will never be uninteresting.) He only vaguely notices the muffled sounds of talking from up front.

“You're early,” he says when he hears the even padding of shoes on wood. Peter isn't sure how Harry's doing it, but his even footsteps sound oddly confident.

“Only five minutes early,” Harry says, settling next to Peter with his knees tucked to his chest. “A little bird told me you've been here since 5:20.”

Peter needs to sit Flash down later and talk about a bestfriend's proper behavior, which definitely does not include talking about him with strangers. “Well, I do need to study without you,” Peter gestures at Harry, who has taken a ziploc bag of chocolate chip cookies out his pocket and is now munching on them, “scattering crumbs on the floor. You do know food isn't allowed here, right?”

“I'm a rule-breaker,” Harry says simply, and he has the audacity to smile.

“Flash is going to kill you, you know,” Peter says, because while Flash will deny it until his very last breath, he actually loves working here, and if ants took over the store, he'd never forgive Harry. It's not that Flash never eats here; he and Peter often munch on chips while they do homework. They'd never make a mess, though.

“I'll buy them a vacuum cleaner,” Harry says. There's a casualness to his tone that makes Peter think he's made thoughtless offers like this several times, and now there isn't any doubt of his wealth. It makes him feel annoyed, how some rich people seem to just throw their money away, but he has to admit, he’s also a bit curious about Harry.

“Just like you bought me books?” he asks, challenging. He doesn't want a flippant answer; he wants to know why this is happening.

“I wanted to,” Harry says. Not _you looked like you needed it_ or _you wanted them._ Peter feels a weight lift from his chest.

“Thanks for that flattering description, by the way,” Peter jokes, his lips quirking up into a smile.

“Accurate, isn't it?” Harry says, smirking smugly.

“I don't know about that,” Peter says, raising an eyebrow in challenge, “but I'm disappointed in how unoriginal it was.”

“That's not what your friend told me.” Harry holds out his hand, and Peter sees a purple star stamped on the underside of his wrist. “See, he gave me a star for being very good.”

“Yeah, he does that. Sorry,” Peter says, wincing. Flash has about a dozen patterns stocked in a drawer. He uses them on the kids who come by the store for storytelling on weekend afternoons.

“It's okay. You've got weird friends, though,” Harry says.

“What does that say about me?” Peter says, scrunching his nose as he straightens his back against the shelf. He still hasn't closed his book, but he hasn't turned the page since Harry arrived either.

“Interesting friends usually make an interesting person,” Harry says. “Hey, what's your favorite color?”

“Red,” Peter answers, turning to look at Harry. “Why?”

“Do you like cupcakes?” Harry asks instead of answering.

“Who doesn't?” Peter says, and again, “Why?”

“Will you be here tomorrow?”

“Yes. One o'clock.” Peter narrows his eyes. “Harry. _Why?_ ”

But, of course, Harry just stands up and walks away and _doesn't answer_.

Peter hunches his shoulders in defeat. Why does he even bother talking to the guy?

*

It's a Saturday, which means Peter can wake up late and eat a hearty brunch instead of his usual orange juice (straight from the box) and bread (not toast, no, because he doesn't have time even for that). So by the time he arrives at the bookstore, he's feeling a bit woozy from all the pancakes and sausages that he ate. Which means he's also feeling exceptional.

“Did you bring me food?” is the first thing Flash says to him, and as is usual for any time before noon, his hair is mussed as if he's just gotten up from bed (probably because he hasn't remembered to brush it yet) and his eyes are puffy from trying to rub sleep away.

“Of course I did,” Peter says. Aunt May always packs a lunch for Flash on weekends, and Peter always buys him a large cup of coffee with a questionable amount of espresso.

“Oh, you got those sausages again,” Flash says when he opens the tupperware, the smell of maple syrup filling the air.

“Only because you texted me a million times when we were buying groceries,” Peter grumbles. “I almost threw my phone out. I hope you're happy.”

“Never been happier,” Flash says before he digs in, all but inhaling the food in front of him. Thank god Aunt May packed him a feast for five.

Because he's most likely going to be ignored for the next fifteen minutes or so, Peter wanders off to the fiction section. He doesn't have much to do, mostly because he spent all of last night finishing all his homework and reading assignments. He doesn't like to procrastinate, not unless something important comes up. Like maybe the urge to spend Friday night staring at his ceiling while emptying a tub of pistachio ice cream. Otherwise, he'd rather have time to watch the latest Hannibal and Game of Thrones episodes without worrying about papers and exams, thank you.

“Have you eaten lunch?” he hears from his left, and Peter doesn't have to wonder who it is.

“I've eaten brunch,” he answers instead of a simple yes.

“Okay, just go and wait in the break room,” Harry says, already walking away.

“There is no break room,” Peter shouts after him, because it's not like there are any other customers right now, and he'd rather not move from his place in the corner.

“What kind of store has no break room?” Harry says, incredulous.

“Mr. Jameson says work breaks are for sissies,” Peter explains. “We usually just lay newspapers out and have picnics.”

“Right.” Harry sighs. “Just wait here.”

He comes back with a box and a thermos, which only makes Peter raise his eyebrows in curiosity.

“Assorted cupcakes and hot chocolate.” Harry sits down in front of him, legs crossed Indian-style, and arranges the food between them. The hot chocolate is pleasantly warm and there are a dozen cupcakes ranging from simple vanilla to bright red velvet to Peter's favorite chocolate topped with peanut butter frosting.

“You should've told me. We have pie back at home,” Peter says, immediately snatching up his favorite.

“Well, then I'm just going to have to visit,” Harry says before biting into a pumpkin cupcake topped with cream cheese frosting.

“Hey, stop right there.” Peter laughs. “Who says I'm going to tell you where I live?”

“Who says I can't find out myself?” Harry quips. “I bet it's some studio type apartment with obscure paintings on the wall and weird light fixtures on the ceiling where you spend lazy afternoons basking in your hipsterness.”

Peter clucks his tongue. “Not even close.”

“Okay, what about a dorm? You have an obnoxious roommate who eats your food and leaves his socks on the floor, and that's why you spend all your time here.”

“That was even worse than before.” Peter groans. “And for the record, I'm the one who forgets to put my clothes in the laundry basket.”

“Living with a responsible adult, then.” Harry scrunches his eyes closed, lips pursed in thought. “Either it's a perfectionist roommate or a very patient relative.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “Stop showing off, smartass.”

“I'm not showing off. Okay, maybe I am.” Harry pauses, sizing up the other cupcakes before picking up a mocha-flavored one. He's only on his second cupcake, which is actually kind of sad because Peter's almost done with his fourth. “How else am I going to impress you enough to get your number?”

Peter freezes for a moment, startling a bit at Harry's straightforward manner, before he replies, “You could just ask, you know.”

“Alright. What's your number?”

“Ask me again tomorrow and maybe I'll tell you,” Peter says, just because he wants to be an asshole this one time. “I'll bring us lunch and pie.”

“Do you like lemonade?” Harry asks. “Okay, you probably do. What about cherry lemonade, though?”

Peter grins, his eyes crinkling in amusement. “If it’s possible. How do you know _exactly_ what I like?”

Harry shrugs. “It's a gift.”

That night, Peter goes home with a new book and a silly smile on his face.

*

Aunt May might have packed enough for an army. Just maybe.

“Are we really going to eat all of this?” Harry asks, staring dubiously at the five tupperware containers laid out neatly in front of Peter. “You know, this is why we need each other's number. You have to tell me when I need to build up my appetite.”

“You could be full and you'd still eat all of this,” Peter retorts. “Aunt May is a great cook. Well, she never can get meatloaf right, but everything else is perfect, okay?”

“Yes,” Harry says slowly, probably trying to sound as inoffensive as possible, “but Peter, each one of these is enough for two people. And we have five.”

“Which is why we should get started,” Peter says, tugging on Harry's sweater sleeve so he would sit. “I don't even know why you're complaining. You should see our dining table on holidays.”

“Are you one of those people with incredibly quick metabolism rates?” Harry says, his mouth twisting into a frown.

“So,” Peter says, ignoring Harry's question, “spaghetti with meatballs, apple pie, buffalo wings, sugar cookies, and enchiladas.”

“Peter, I really don't think I can do this,” Harry says, though he finally does take a seat.

“Yes, you can,” Peter insists, pushing the enchiladas towards him. “Okay, tell you what, if you manage to eat a bit of everything, I'll give you my number.”

There's a good, long moment where Harry just stares uncertainly at him, gaping while Peter smiles, one part encouraging, two parts gleeful, four parts impudent.

“Was this your plan all along?” Harry says when he finally collects himself, sounding every bit betrayed and disbelieving. “Is this a test?”

“Yes,” Peter says, because it really is. Anyone who can't deal with Aunt May's tendency to cook for twice the number of people who are actually going to eat isn't good enough to get Peter's number, no matter how good-looking he is.

Of course, this only encourages Harry, whose eyes are now hard with determination. He holds his hand out, and when Peter gives him a fork, he wields it like a weapon, cutting off the corner of an enchilada with a look of pure concentration on his face. When he finally gets a taste, though, he's reduced to wide eyes and appreciative whimpers.

“This is so good,” he says. “Your aunt is a goddess.”

“I know,” Peter says, not even surprised at how Harry's quickly scooping up a bit from each container, as if he's worried someone will take the food away from him. Peter gets it. It happened with Flash and it happened with all the friends Peter ever brought home. Gwen's a tough cookie but the most aggressive he's seen her will always be that time during the graduation dinner Aunt May insisted on hosting. In fact, that night, lots of friendships were destroyed because everyone was trying to get the last bite. No joke.

“Just so you know, you're never getting rid of me now,” Harry says in between mouthfuls of sugar cookies. “And don't get mad if I appear outside your house at odd hours for a snack.”

“You know, it's my aunt's birthday on Tuesday.” Peter waggles his eyebrows in invitation. “She's cooking her special tuna casserole.”

“Wait. Are you telling me that this isn't even her best cooking?”

“That's exactly what I'm telling you.”

“I'll be there,” Harry promises.

In the end, they do finish everything. Of course, they both feel like their stomachs are about to burst, but at least they're both feeling drunk with happiness.

“That,” Harry says, “was the best meal of my life.”

“Thanks,” Peter says, beaming. “Aunt May will appreciate that.”

Harry crawls over to the space beside Peter, settling there with his arms around his knees and leaning his head against Peter's.

“I'm probably going to regret this when I'm stuck in the bathroom tomorrow morning.” Harry groans. “And to think it's going to be a Monday. I hate you.”

“And yet you want my number,” Peter retorts. “Which reminds me, I should probably give it to you now. You’ve earned it.”

Harry turns to look at Peter, his smile so wide it reaches his eyes. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” Peter says, and it takes absolutely everything in him not to chuckle at how Harry acts like an eager (and apparently tactile) kid when he's stuffed with good food. “Now give me your phone.”

Harry does as he says, and Peter makes quick work of saving his number under the name _Peter, the non-hipster_.

“Thank you,” Harry says when Peter hands him back his phone. “Now we can date like normal people.”

Peter laughs. “We're dating?” he says, teasing.

“Of course we are,” Harry says easily. “This is like our third date already.”

“No way. If anything, it's only our second.”

“Nope. Friday, we met up at a time we agreed on, I bought you a gift, and we got started on that whole getting-to-know-you stage. Yesterday, we had a snack together and I definitely charmed you with those cupcakes. Today, we had a picnic on a bookstore floor and you charmed me with your Aunt's food,” Harry says, ticking them off on his fingers. “Not the most romantic dates I've been on, but the company's good so I'm not complaining.”

“You're ridiculous,” Peter says, ducking his head to hide the way his cheeks are dusted pink.

“That's not a no,” Harry says smugly.

“No,” Peter agrees, “but I still think it's only our second date.”

“Good enough for me.”

*

This is their first conversation through text.

_peterpeterpeterpeteeeer_

_What the hell._

_peterpeter i forgot to give you something_

_Is this Harry??_

_yes of course it's harry BUT PETER I FORGOT TO GIVE YOU SOMETHING_

_Maybe I shouldn't have given you my number after all._

_PETER THIS IS IMPORTANT_

_Harry. Harry, we're going to see each other on Tuesday, remember?_

_BUT PETER_

_Harry, it's past midnight. Get some sleep._

_OKAy goodnight sleep tight don't let the bed bugs bite_

_You too._

*

The next morning, Peter receives a text while he's eating breakfast. A really long text.

_good morning! sorry about last night, i may have drunk coffee. i blame felicia. by the way, you need to meet felicia. oops, sorry. i ramble. but you really do need to meet felicia._

_Bring her on Tuesday and consider it forgotten. Also, good morning!_

_done and done._

*

Tuesday finds Peter all but quivering in excitement. He has his gifts for Aunt May hidden in his closet. He's giving her a sweater he spent all of last week’s nights knitting, thank you very much, and hairpins to hold her hair up on her shifts at the hospital, because of course Peter knows she's not at the diner. He's also considering that spa day Flash suggested, because these days, Aunt May keeps on working herself to exhaustion. He can't count how many times he went home to find her in the living room, sleeping on the sofa while a half-finished plate of food lies forgotten on the coffee table.

He thinks about it at school, and by the end of his second and last class for the day, he's made a decision. He makes a quick stop at a spa near his high school, one he's familiar with through Flash. Apparently, they give awesome Thai massages.

After that, Peter heads to the bookstore, where he finds Flash on his laptop, skyping with Gwen.

“Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?” he says, jumping over the counter and pushing Flash out of the way. Onscreen, Gwen is wearing one of her polkadot pajamas.

“Why thank you, Parker,” Flash says, puffing his chest out.

Gwen rolls her eyes. “He wasn't talking to you, idiot.”

Peter grins. “How's our favorite girl?”

“Oh, you know, still kicking ass internationally,” Gwen says, and then she rounds on Peter. He shouldn’t have hoped for anything else. “There's something a lot more interesting to talk about, though. You're dating again.”

Peter sighs, glaring at Flash for a moment before putting on his most innocent expression and attempting to pout his way out of this conversation. It doesn't work.

“Give me a break, Peter. I'm still waiting for my pizza to arrive and I haven't eaten for seven hours so you better start talking,” Gwen says, and god, Peter has forgotten how persuasive (read: terrifying) she can be.

“It's not that big a deal. He's nice,” Peter mutters, and no, he absolutely does not sound like a petulant child.

“It's a pretty big deal if it's Harry Osborn, bro,” Flash says.

“What? Osborn? As in _Oscorp_?” Peter gapes. _My father wants me to work there_ —of course.

“Yes!” Flash shoots him a scandalized look. “Now I get why you quit that job at the Bugle.”

“Hey! He’s been out of the country since he was eleven. I didn’t even know he was back.”

“So if I'm interpreting things right,” Gwen cuts in, “you've gone on dates with a guy whose name you didn't know.”

“I knew his first name. Wasn't that enough?” Peter grumbles.

“Also, you're letting him buy you books! You slut,” Gwen hisses, though she sounds too close to giggles to be taken seriously.

“Tell me you wouldn't say yes to a guy who buys you books, Gwen.” Peter narrows his eyes, daring her to try.

“Okay, so you've got a catch. I still have to disapprove until he introduces himself and impresses me with his Mario Kart skills,” Gwen says, nodding in that wide-eyed, _yeah you better listen right now_ way of hers.

“Fine! We'll play next weekend,” Peter says, throwing his hands up in surrender.

“Good. Now go and prepare for Aunt May's dinner party. I have a paper to finish,” Gwen says before she's waving goodbye and the window turns black.

“I hate you,” Peter tells Flash, because he's convinced that there really isn't anything else that can sum up his feelings right now.

“I know that already. Not exactly news, Parker,” Flash says. In other words, _you can't faze me._

Peter has no choice but to admit defeat.

*

A lot of people come to Aunt May's dinner party. They don't have any relatives left, but of course, there's Flash and his four stomachs. Then there are Aunt May's favorite neighbors, like that couple across the street who just moved in and are still in that sickly sweet honeymoon phase, and that lonely old man living in the house at the end of the street who gives them a matryoshka doll whenever they hand out extra food around the neighborhood. There's also Aunt May's friends from the diner and from the hospital—just a handful, mind.

That crowd alone consists of fifteen people, so when Harry and Felicia arrive thirty minutes late with a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine, it's already a bit of a tight squeeze. The kitchen counter has become a sort of buffet table, which leaves people to lounge in either the hallway or the living room. Peter's leaning against the dining table, making small talk with the guests who go back for another serving, (peter doesn't say _seconds_ because honestly, some people are already on their third plates) while Aunt May stays in the living room with the majority of their guests. This is why she gets to Harry first.

“Peter, your friends are here,” she says, herding Harry and Felicia into the kitchen.

“You should have texted me,” Peter says, setting down his plate so he can take Harry’s gifts and put them to the side. “I would have let you in myself.”

“Sorry. We were already late,” Harry says. “I didn't want to trouble you.”

“Oh, don't listen to this idiot. He was just embarrassed because of his texts the other day,” says the smartly dressed woman trailing behind him. She smiles at Peter, friendly and open. “Felicia, by the way. Harry likes to say I'm his bestfriend, but I'm really just his outspoken assistant.”

“Does that mean you're the person to ask why he looks for a date in bookstores instead of a bar?” Peter says, returning her smile.

“Ah, I'm afraid I can't answer that. He made me agree to a pact before we got out of the car,” Felicia says, apologetic. Then, in a stage whisper, “We'll talk later.”

“Hey! You're my secretary and my bestfriend. You can't betray my secrets,” Harry says indignantly.

Felicia, of course, ignores her boss. Instead, she exchanges a look with Peter, and then she turns to Aunt May, linking arms with her. “Why don't we leave the boys to talk?”

“Of course,” Aunt May replies, an easy smile on her face when she mouths a _good luck with your boy_ over Harry's shoulder before she and Felicia start chattering away like they're old friends catching up.

“I like her,” Peter comments when they're out of earshot, because he does. All his friends are sarcastic and brutally honest; she'd fit right in.

“Everyone likes her. My father likes her. I like her.” Harry's lips twist into a thoughtful frown. “She keeps on denying it but I'm pretty sure congeniality is her super power.”

“She's probably just clever and incredibly patient,” Peter says. “I mean, to be able to handle a child like you? Amazing.”

Harry narrows his eyes. “Maybe I shouldn't have brought her after all. You might start liking her more than you like me.”

Peter scoffs. “Don't be ridiculous. You're a menace; I only tolerate you.”

“Yes, well, you're,” Harry pauses, his face pinched as he tries to search for an appropriate insult, “something else.”

“I'm flattered you can't think of anything to say to me,” Peter says, grinning.

Harry snorts. “I'm just being polite, because I always aim to be on my best behavior when I'm on a date.”

“Don't pretend you don't like it when I get snarky,” Peter retorts.

“So what about that tuna casserole?” Harry says brightly instead of defending himself.

It's as much of an admission as a simple yes.

*

Aunt May is absolutely charmed by Harry, of course. He says the right things and he's the perfect gentleman—Peter's pretty sure he can make anyone like him. The fact that he brought Felicia along is just an added bonus. By the time everyone’s filing out the door, she's received six invitations for tea or brunch. If she weren't so good at time management, she probably wouldn't have been able to fit everyone in her schedule.

So Felicia goes home with fifteen new friends (and maybe an admirer or two, including Flash who looks at her like she hung the moon, which is actually very likely) while Harry earns his right to his own daily packed lunch.

“You know, I feel oddly proud of you,” Peter says. He and Harry are walking on the sidewalk along their street, mostly because Harry doesn't want to go home yet and Peter's more than happy to give him an excuse to stay a bit longer. Felicia has already left, opting to take the train back to her flat. Harry didn't want her to go alone, but Flash stepped up and promised to see her home, so they agreed.

“What, did you think I wouldn't behave?” Harry says, snorting none too gracefully. “I just did the equivalent of meeting your parents; of course I only put my best foot forward.”

Peter groans. “Does this mean I have to meet your dad?”

Harry shrugs. “Someday, maybe. He's not too happy with me right now.”

“You know, there's one more person you need to meet,” Peter says, changing the subject. The subject of Harry’s father is a risk to bring up; Peter can never be sure whether or not it'll be taken well, even back when he didn’t know it was Norman Osborn. Today is obviously a bad day for it. “My other bestfriend, Gwen, she's in England, studying at Oxford. She wants to see how you do in Mario Kart.”

“I _slay_ at Super Mario Kart,” Harry boasts. “The interns at Oscorp hold a contest every month and I am the undefeated champion.”

“We'll see.” They're back to Harry's car now, and his driver's looking a bit bored, so Peter takes pity and bumps his shoulder against Harry's. “You should go. It's getting late.”

Harry sighs softly, quiet enough that Peter thinks twice if he heard it or not. “Don't wanna go.”

“You've got a seven o' clock class tomorrow, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” Harry mumbles, but he puts on his best pout and fixes a forlorn look on Peter. “Can't I just stay over at your house?”

“The one and only heir to Oscorp is not going to sleep on a couch,” Peter says, and when he catches a suggestive glint in Harry's eyes, he adds, “or in my twin bed.”

“I'm going to take you out on a proper date. Next weekend, we'll watch a movie and get dinner in a real restaurant,” Harry says. “Then, I'll drive you home and give you a kiss goodnight.”

“Aren't you a gentleman,” Peter remarks, reaching out to wrap his arms around Harry, who doesn't hesitate to return the hug.

“Oh, wait.” Harry pulls back slightly, patting his pockets until he takes out a red bow tie and thrusts it at Peter.

“Is this some sort of Doctor Who reference?” Peter says, staring blankly at Harry's gift. “I guess this is the perfect time to tell you that I like the Tenth Doctor more. Though I wouldn't say no to the Seventh either.”

“Really? The Eleventh is more your style,” Harry says, grinning cheekily, and Peter can't help but be surprised that Harry knows what he's talking about. Then again, he did study in England for seven years. “Very hipster.”

“I'm not a hipster,” Peter insists. It's pointless, of course, but if he doesn't defend himself, Harry's going to take it as an admission, and Peter isn't just going to give him the satisfaction.

“Do you even have suspenders? I should've bought you matching suspenders.”

“Harry,” Peter says, rolling his eyes, “I have suspenders. Relax.”

“Yes, but do you have burgundy suspenders?” Harry says, and judging by his tone, Peter knows he can't just say that simple black suspenders will do nicely.

“No,” he admits eventually, albeit grudgingly.

“I should take you on a shopping trip,” Harry says.

Peter's jaw drops, his expression contorting into a mix of pain, horror, and betrayal. “Don't you dare, Harry Osborn.”

There it is. That sad face. It's almost unfair how Harry just pulls that all the time and doesn't care that Peter's utterly defenseless against it. “But Peter—”

“Harry, I swear to god, I will make you wear a Barney costume if you do that,” Peter says, and okay, he's a bit proud of how serious he sounds.

Problem is, the threat just flies over Harry's head. “Really, Pete?” he says in between chuckles. “The best threat you have is a purple dinosaur?”

“Shut up.”

“Oh, fine.” Harry's expression shifts from an amused grin to a small, happy upturn of his lips. He takes Peter's hand in his, pulling him closer. “I promise I won't take you to the mall for dress-up.”

“Good,” Peter says, satisfied. He presses a kiss against Harry's cheek, almost as an afterthought. It startles a laugh from Harry.

“If a kiss is what I get for giving you what you want, maybe I should stop pulling your metaphorical pigtails.”

“Don't.” Peter pulls Harry in for another hug, burying his nose in soft hair. “Then we’d be boring.”

“We would,” Harry agrees. “I wouldn’t want to lose you because I was too _nice_. If anything, it should be because you’re appalled that I wear Captain America boxers to sleep.”

“Oh my god,” Peter breathes, “you’re perfect. What do you think the odds are that we have matching underwear?”

Harry turns his head sharply, his nose bumping against Peter’s. “What? I had you pegged as an Ironman sort of guy.”

“Not that I don’t like Tony Stark. I do. It’s like a requirement for engineering students to have a crush on him,” Peter says, his voice rising in excitement. “But I mean, Captain America is a legend. Every kid wants a Captain America comic book and Captain America shirts and Captain America everything.”

Harry lets out an exaggerated sigh. He looks a bit red in the face, probably from stifling his laughter. “So that means you’re okay with how I dress for bed. I don’t think anything about me can shock you.”

“No, wait. Harry, I have an important question for you. The most important question, okay.” Peter pulls back to an arm’s length, grabbing Harry’s shoulders and fixing him a deadly serious look. “Do you or do you not like dubstep?”

Harry scrunches his nose. “I don’t _not_ like it.”

Peter nods approvingly. “Good enough for me.”

They don’t kiss that night, not on the lips, no. Peter wants it to happen after Harry gets Gwen’s stamp of approval, just so everything’s official. (because by official, he means already introduced to and has charmed everyone whose opinion he values) Harry wants it to happen at Peter’s pace. He’s done enough, pushed enough. After all, it’s enough that he was lucky enough he hit on an amazing guy and that Peter didn’t just brush him off.

Peter allowed—still is allowing—Harry to woo him with books and food and seemingly random gifts, and it’s without a doubt the best thing that has happened in a long, long while.

**Author's Note:**

> hit me up on [tumblr](http://connerkent.tk/)!


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